


Wait for it (I love you)

by HonoraryFox



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, eighth year, implied depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 16:47:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29228715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HonoraryFox/pseuds/HonoraryFox
Summary: Eighth Year AU. Harry is feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders. He can't outrun history. Draco is there.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 4
Kudos: 51





	Wait for it (I love you)

**Author's Note:**

> Ilvernorny, Year One 
> 
> Round One Theme: History: Write about how history affects a character's life.
> 
> Main prompt: [song] Wait for it
> 
> Additional prompt: [quote] "The version of me you created in your mind is not my responsibility"
> 
> Word count: 3043
> 
> Author's Note: Thank you to my wonderful teammates for their patience and help!
> 
> Eighth Year AU! Epilogue what epilogue!
> 
> TW: implied depression and suicidal ideation

Returning to Hogwarts didn’t feel the same. Harry didn’t know why he had expected it to. Everything had changed. 

The ethereal aura that the school always held had been shattered. The castle was repaired, but in Harry’s mind, he could still see rubble everywhere, decorated with the bodies of those too young to be at war. Too young to be gone. 

Ghosts idled around every corner of the Great Hall. Harry flinched away from the first years. Hermione and Ron were curled into each other across from him at the Gryffindor table while Ginny sat stiffly next to him, neither quite sure what they should be doing. They didn’t have each other, not in the way they had wanted to so long ago, but they had their grief. Shared but not halved. An inescapable bond tied in a neat little bow of guilt and duty. They didn’t hate each other, but they didn’t fit together anymore. Harry’s jagged edges and torn corners grated against Ginny’s own tattered pieces until they set alight and left only the ashes in their wake. 

“The history of our school will never be forgotten. With heavy hearts, we mourn…” 

As McGonagall made her speech, Harry let his eyes roam. There were so many missing friends and faces. Harry longed for anything to replace the crippling sickness that gripped his stomach and turned it over and over. He hadn’t meant to seek out the blond he knew would be sitting across the hall, but he did it anyway. 

Malfoy was hunched over with his finger tapping at the table. He had left a subtle but significant gap between himself and his friends. An anxious hand kept reaching up and down as if trying desperately to say or do something, but always failing to at the last moment. Harry watched with bland fascination at the single claps Malfoy gave the new Slytherins, the tension rippling through his shoulders. Finally, Malfoy’s hand came to rest on the back of his slender neck that seemed to strain with the weight of his head on top of it. 

The Feast lasted longer than Harry remembered. His leg bounced under the table as he waited for the moment he could leave. At the end of the Feast, he slipped away from Hermione’s concerned and guiding hand and headed out of the closet door.

He wandered down to the Quidditch pitch. Like the castle, the pitch was no longer a place of joy or wonder. It wasn’t that same place he had finally felt good for something. The scorched grass had been cleared; repaired or replaced with some spell he didn’t know. House banners covered the stadium once again in seas of red, green, yellow, and blue and he walked transfixed by the way the silver of Slytherin swam in the wind and reflected the light of the full moon.

He traced the Deathly Hallows onto the fabric covering the stand with his forefinger, drawing the resurrection stone last. An eternal loop of life and death seemed fitting to Harry. It described his life perfectly.

He climbed the stand and stood poised at the edge, letting numbness settle over his body and mind. It felt like he had a void in place of a heart and a vacuum where his head should be. Distantly he realised this feeling was disconcerting. Under the stars, though, he put it down to just realising his place in the universe.

_Unimportant. Unnecessary._

He smiled. Sometimes he doubted even Atlas felt the same weight that he did. Harry was holding up an entire world, all of them on his back, arms, and shoulders, anywhere they could fit. They proclaimed their hero, a god amongst men; have a gold pedestal and look how far you could fall. His position was precarious, his feet seemed to barely fit the podium, and one wrong move would send him tumbling. He had risen, and as humans do, he knew he would fall, and he would break. 

He was already broken.

Harry tipped forward. It wasn’t far enough to fall but far enough to feel like he could, and that was enough for now. He could control it.

~~~

“Is everything alright, Harry?” Hermione peered over the top of her book.

“Yeah, everything’s great,” Harry tried to smile. “Actually, I think I’m going to go outside. Need some air.”

“Want some company, mate?” Ron asked. 

“No. I’ll see you at dinner?”

“Of course, Harry,” Hermione smiled. Harry saw Hermione give a sharp tug of Ron’s sleeve to make the taller boy follow her. Ron flicked his eyes between Harry and Hermione. 

“Alright,” Ron conceded.

“Bye, Harry,” Hermione gave him a small smile before pulling Ron up the stairs after her.

Harry ducked into a passageway, letting the wall close behind him. He sagged against the cool brick, and let himself fall to the floor. All of his energy seemed to drain from him in that very moment because he no longer wanted to go outside. The dread kept creeping in. It’s spindly talons dug into his brain with a vice-like grip and wouldn’t let go. Every time he tried to take a step forward, the claws would violently rip him back to the war. Back to the tent and the battles and the lives lost. He couldn’t move on.

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but when he opened his bleary eyes to a semi-illuminated Malfoy, he realised his error.

“Oh good, you’re not dead,” Malfoy was sitting across from Harry with one knee pulled up to his chest and his other leg retreating from where it had just been tapping Harry’s leg.

“What do you want?”

“What are you doing in here?”

“I asked you first,” Harry glared. 

Malfoy scoffed and set his wand down next to him. _Lumos_ ’ soft glow sent a rush of warmth through Harry, but he continued to look at the blond with suspicion. Malfoy made an exaggerated sigh.

“I came to be alone. Instead, I have the awful luck of finding you. Here. Asleep and freezing in my favourite hiding place.”

“This is your favourite hiding place?” 

Malfoy rolled his eyes.“Yes, because _that’s_ the important part of this conversation.”

Harry shrugged. “What d’you want me to say?”

“Gee, I don’t know, Potter, how about an explanation of how the Great and Good Harry Potter came to find himself alone and about to get hypothermia in a secret passageway. Don’t you think the Weasel and his clan would-“

“I’m not the Great and Good.”

“Sorry?”

“‘M not the Great and Good. ‘M just Harry.”

“Hardly. As I was saying-“

“Just shove it, Malfoy, I don’t care.”

“For a saviour, you are incredibly rude.”

“Whatever,” Harry burrowed deeper into his hoodie and closed his eyes. He had almost managed to drift back to sleep when Malfoy spoke again.

“Scintillating conversation, Potter. Are you leaving?”

“God, you’re a prick! Why can’t you just be nice?” Harry saw Malfoy recoil as if he had just been slapped. Harry’s stomach plummeted.

“Yes, because being nice is the key to life.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You think life is all sunshine and happiness. Everyone adores you, of course, you think that. From the moment you stepped through those doors when we were eleven you had people just begging to fawn at your feet-“

“If I remember rightly, you were one of them.”

“But oh, saint Potter, is just _nice_ to people. Well, that only works for some of us. Most of us have to work a little harder.”

“Please, you wouldn’t know what a hard life was if it came and punched you in the face.”

“Of course, I know nothing about life being shit, and you know everything, right?”

“Actually, yeah. So why don’t you take your pathetic little assumptions and shove them up your arse,” 

Draco narrowed his eyes at Harry and snatched up his wand. “Enjoy your hypothermia, Potter.”

Harry watched Malfoy stalk out of the passage. He didn’t even attempt to fight the tears that began to fall down his cheeks. Emotions coursed through his veins and flooded his brain all at once. He wanted to scream. He wanted to pull his hair out. He wanted to curl up and cry. He wanted to sleep for an eternity. Mostly he wanted to punch Malfoy in the face, but he was already gone. So Harry settled for the closest thing and drove his fist into the wall as he screamed the kind of scream that had been building up for far too long. The kind that when you started, you couldn’t stop. 

His body demanded a physical relief from the prison built with forced perfection and happiness that Harry had been keeping it in. Death and destruction had taken everyone, but somehow he was still alive. Him and his duty to fight for those who died, to protect their legacy. If there was a reason for that, he was getting tired of waiting for it. 

~~~

It hadn’t taken Harry long after the final battle to realise that he had no say in his story and every day at Hogwarts drove another nail into the coffin. The history written about him would be by his peers, elders, and those not yet born. He would be celebrated and lauded; people would use his name in their speeches and stories long after he was dead and buried. As if he was the most important thing in the world. He wasn’t. He was only one pixel of a much larger image, and he wasn’t worth the starring role that history was bestowing on him.

It was that knowledge that kept driving him up to the Astronomy Tower almost nightly. Standing at the edge, leaning out over the railing, he could gain some perspective. He could see the world a little differently. He was reminded of his first time riding Buckbeak and the untempered freedom he had felt. Height had always offered him catharsis.

The past month had felt like trying to run through quicksand. Every time Harry thought that he was on top of things, he realised he wasn’t. He was sinking. His white knuckles gripped the railings. He closed his eyes and started climbing. 

_I am the one thing in life I can control._

“Potter?” Harry swung a leg over the railing. 

_The only thing._

_“_ What are you doing?” His second leg followed. 

_Death doesn’t discriminate._

_“_ Potter?” Harry shifted, so he was sitting on the railing with his legs dangling down. 

_Not a sinner. Not a saint._

“Harry?” Harry snapped his eyes open. His name was unfamiliar in that tone, that voice. “What are you... Are you... Shit.”

Malfoy’s hand appeared by Harry’s side. Harry cocked his head at it, curiously and blinked without comprehension. 

“I’m fine,” Harry looked through Malfoy rather than at him. 

“Right,” Malfoy cleared his throat, “but could you be fine _not_ sitting on the railing. I’m sure if something happens then Granger and the Weasel would make it my fault,” 

Harry blinked slowly. He regarded Malfoy with all the bewilderment of a tired toddler. 

“Why are you here?”

“I came to plot some stars,” Malfoy’s voice seemed oddly calm to Harry, but he didn’t pay too much attention to it.

“Oh.”

~~~

Harry met Draco at the Astronomy Tower almost nightly over the next month. Or perhaps it was that Draco met Harry. 

“I can’t feel like this,” Harry whispered into the wind, “I can’t love you. I _can’t_.”

“Saint falling for a sinner? Seems like something you’d do,” Draco shrugged next to him. And it was Draco now, not Malfoy. Never Malfoy.

“You’re not a sinner,” Harry scrubbed a hand over his face, “and I’m certainly no saint.” 

“If there is one thing I learned from my parents, it’s that love doesn’t care what you are, it doesn’t discriminate. Sometimes it just is. Sinners and saints alike.”

“But not _me._ ”

“What makes you so special?”

“What will people say? If they knew I even thought this, let alone…”

“Harry, you are not responsible for the version of you they have created in their minds. You played your part. They have your history; let us be your future.”

~~~

“What are you doing?” Draco caught Harry’s hand where it was reaching to the hem of his jumper.

Harry froze. “Do you want me to stop?” 

“No,” Draco decided. He wrapped his fingers around Harry’s wrist. Harry took the hold for what it was, a silent request to pause, and waited while Draco tugged them onto the bed. 

“Ok,” Harry waited for Draco’s hand to fall before continuing to push Draco’s jumper up, revealing a knot of silver scars that danced their way across Draco’s chest. 

Harry tracked the longest scar from Draco’s hip to where it slid underneath the remaining band of green just under Draco’s arms. It passed through at least four other scars. Harry bit his lip to stop himself from asking which ones he caused that day in the bathroom or if all of them were his doing. He hadn’t stayed to check the damage that the spell had done.

“They’re...” Harry started. He closed his eyes and pursed his lips. When he opened his eyes again, he looked up to the ceiling and tried to ignore his brain howling at him. There were no words that he could think of to express his feelings to Draco. The regret, the guilt, the knot in his chest.

“Yeah,” Draco agreed. Harry nodded. He stared at the scars, his eyes ever so slightly widened as tears started to gather. He wondered if the Wizarding World would celebrate their saviour’s history if they knew that this was a part of it.

Harry levered himself off the bed away from Draco. His hands shook as he concentrated on keeping his breathing steady. _Worthless,_ a tear-streaked down his cheek, _all you’ve ever done is hurt, people. Look at him,_ the voice hissed, _look at what you did. Do you think you can outrun that?_ Distantly, Harry likened the feeling to when he was wearing the Horcrux last year, only instead of a weight around his neck that he could remove, this was ever-present.

“My father commanded respect, Harry. It wasn’t all you. Mother, though, she was a genius,” Harry felt the words like a punch to his gut. Narcissa had saved him after he had done that to her son.

Draco reached out to Harry. He intertwined their fingers and pulled Harry back towards him. 

“I know,” Harry took Draco’s hand in his and pressed it to his own heart. Draco could feel small ripples under the thin material of Harry’s shirt. “Your mother _was_ a genius, Draco, and she loved you. I’m sorry she’s not here. I want to show you something.”

Draco held his breath as Harry gingerly tugged his shirt off. A jagged scar ran over Harry’s chest. It looked less like a lightning bolt and more like someone had torn him in two and sewn him back together from one armpit to the other. It cut Harry’s heart in half on its way with small veins sparking across it in every direction. 

“When Voldemort tried to kill me, the second time, I thought I was being torn apart when I woke up. It was only for a second, but I’ve never forgotten it. Your mother was sent to check I was dead. All she wanted to know was if you were safe. She defied him for you, Draco.”

“I thought _Avada Kedavra_ was meant to be painless,” Draco whispered. “You should’ve died,” he managed to force out after a long silence.

“I did die for a while. It wasn’t so bad.” 

“Harry,” Draco’s voice shook. He pushed his hand against the curse scar more forcefully. Harry tensed the muscles across his chest and planted his hands firmly into the mattress. It did not offer much stability, but it was better than none. Draco scowled at him and pushed harder. “Death… Death just takes and takes, and it doesn’t care who you are. I can’t let it take you too.”

~~~

London over the holidays was a strange place. That odd limbo that seems to exist between Christmas and New Year blurred the lines between work and pleasure. Those who usually wore suits could be seen in jeans and jumpers, hitting their favourite coffee shops at odd hours of the day. 

Harry dragged them across central London on a bar crawl that would have astounded even the most committed students on sports night. 

“Let’s go outside,” Harry shouted over the din of the pub. Draco nodded then latched onto Harry’s hand, winding their way to the exit. Harry opened the door and stepped into the rain. 

“Harry!” Draco shouted when he was pulled out into the street behind the shorter man. “Move it,” They ran to the nearby shop and ducked under the canopy. It was barely a shelter from the torrential rain, but it was a shelter.

“Little rain never hurt,” Harry tried to pull them back out into the street, but Draco circled his arm around Harry’s chest and pulled him close to him. 

“Let go. I want to dance,” Harry tried to wriggle out of Draco’s grasp.

“It’s chucking it down.”

“So? Ever heard of dancing in the rain? It’s romantic.” 

“Rain! Not a bloody storm. I am not dancing with you in this!” Harry squirmed again, but Draco’s grip did not loosen. He realised the only way out was down, and so he dropped his weight and crawled away. He stopped under the closest streetlight and stood. He threw his best devil-may-care grin at Draco and started dancing.

“Come on!” Harry shouted. Draco shook his head. “Draco!” When he didn’t see his partner move, Harry decided to dance by himself. As Harry spun around his halo of light, always coming back to meet Draco’s eyes.

Draco’s heart stuttered and jumped as he watched this version of Harry, free and young version. He joined Harry under the streetlight as the clock struck midnight.

Draco wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist as the final bell tolled from Big Ben and dipped his neck to kiss him.

“I love you,” Draco whispered.

“I love you too. I’m glad I waited.”

  
  



End file.
